


Never Again

by holy_hell_dean



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, And then when he does come back, Post Season 3, Suicidal Sam, before Dean comes back from Hell, before Season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holy_hell_dean/pseuds/holy_hell_dean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first fanfic, so please tell me if you like it or not. I did not have a beta, so any and all errors and mistakes are mine. Please read and review! Thank you so much!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Never Again

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfic, so please tell me if you like it or not. I did not have a beta, so any and all errors and mistakes are mine. Please read and review! Thank you so much!

It had been three months and two days since Dean died when Sam decided to kill himself. Ruby had just left, like always, saying she had business to do. He had been thinking about offing himself ever since Dean was torn to shreds by the hellhounds, but what kept him alive was the chance he could find a way to save his brother from the pit. 

That dream was shattered just moments before when Ruby came straight out and told him that he couldn't save Dean, no matter what he tried. 

He packed all of his things into the impala’s trunk and drove. He had no idea where he was going to go, but he had to get away from that motel room. He had to just get away from it all. 

Sam stopped at a motel in some random state and checked in for three days. He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was, but decided that he didn't want somebody to bother him while he offed himself. No need for management to come in and see him dying on their floor. 

Sam called Bobby to say his goodbye before he even knew what he was doing. “Hello?” Bobby's gruff voice came through the phone. 

“Bobby, hey.” Sam’s throat threatened to close up on him. “I, uh. How are you doing?” 

“Sam? Are you all right, son?” Bobby's tone went straight to worry. “I haven't heard from you in over a month.” 

Sam wiped a few tears that somehow managed to drip down his cheeks and sighed. “Yeah, sorry about that. Just wanted to see how you were doing. H-How is everything?” The tremble in his voice didn't go unnoticed by either of the hunters. 

“I'm fine, Sam, but I asked about you. Are you okay? Where are ya?” The older man asked quickly. 

Sam couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up. “I don't even know, Bobby. Some motel room, but I don't,” he paused. “I don't know why I bothered to try, Bobby. I don't know why I'm trying.” Sam was openly sobbing now. 

“Where are you, boy? Find out and I'll come on over, help you with whatever you need.” Bobby was already on his laptop trying to find out where Sam was by the GPS in his phone. 

“No, you don't need to come. I-I don't need help. I don't want you to see me, Bobby.” Sam grabbed Dean’s favorite knife out of his duffel bag and held it up, inspecting it. “You shouldn't see me like this, Bobby.” He said quietly. 

Bobby could have cheered for joy when he found out that Sam’s motel was only a few towns over. It would take him about an hour to get there, maybe 40 minutes if he broke a couple laws. “Listen, son. You stay on the phone with me, okay? Just talk to me, boy.” Bobby nearly begged, needing to keep Sam on the phone. 

“No, it's okay. I just wanted to tell you you've been like a father to me and Dean these past few years. I just wanted to thank you, Bobby.” Sam had stopped crying and was staring at the shining blade in his hand. “Bye, Bobby.” 

Bobby cursed and threw his truck into drive and sped off. 

\-------------------------------

Sam threw the phone down onto the motel’s stained bedspread and went straight into the bathroom, locking it. He closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, staring at his hands and the knife that lay there. Thoughts ran wildly through his head and he sighed. He told himself he couldn't do this, that he was pathetic, it's all too much. There is no way to save Dean, so Sam decided he might as well join him.

Sam rolled up the sleeves on his shirt and brought the knife down onto his wrist. He sat there for minutes, just taking in the feel of the blade on his skin and the deep red that seeped from it. Mesmerized by it, Sam thought back on all of the times he had to cut his palm or his arm just to prove he was himself and not some type of monster. 

He didn't realize how long or deep he had made the cut until he was halfway down his arm and would definitely need stitches if he were to fix it. Deciding not to drag this out any longer, he made another cut on his right arm and hissed from the pain. This pain was a different pain than what he's been used to for over the past year and Sam welcomed it. 

Sam didn't realize he had dropped the knife until he heard it clatter on the linoleum floor. He stared at the blood that oozed out of the cuts and noticed how tired he was becoming. He closed his eyes with the thought of seeing Dean again.

\-----------------------------

Bobby pulled into the Sunny Side Motel and decided to ignore the horrible name as he sprinted to front office. 

After acquiring a key to Sam’s motel room with the magic of flashing an FBI badge, he barged in to notice Sam's duffel on the bed. Bobby kicked the door to the bathroom down after two swift kicks and could have died himself.

Sam was on the floor soaking in a large puddle of his own blood, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, and too pale for Bobby's liking. “You idjit!” Bobby choked out and pulled his phone out with one hand to dial 911 while the other was checking Sam for a pulse. His heartbeat was weak and felt more like a flutter than the strong pulse it should.

After getting of the phone, and already hearing the sirens, Bobby wrapped Sam's wrists in the motel’s towels and put as much pressure as he could on them. The ambulance pulled up and Bobby was pushed out of the way by the paramedics. 

“We have an adult male, mid to late twenties, attempted suicide. How's his pulse?” One man asked his assistant and Bobby just stared as they worked. 

“Very weak and dropping, sir.” A young woman replied and looked slightly scared. Bobby assumed she was new to her job. 

“All right, let's get him on the board and out of here!” The man in charge ordered while he kneeled by Sam’s head and held it steady while the others loaded Sam onto a back board and then onto a stretcher. 

Bobby followed them out quickly, “Wait! I'm coming with you, he needs me.” He said brokenly. 

“Are you related to him?” The woman paramedic asked him with sympathy lacing her voice. 

Bobby nodded. “I'm his father and I'm coming with you.” He left them no room for argument and climbed into the back of the ambulance with them. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Sir, we’re doing all we can right now.” The man replied. “We’re close to the hospital though. Your son will be in good hands.” Bobby just nodded and sighed deeply.

\-------------------------------

Sam woke up to the sound of machines beeping and somebody's snoring. He open his eyes and groaned at the bright light, shutting his eyes tightly. “Was that you, Sam?” Bobby's voiced filtered through and Sam was surprised at how rough it sounded. 

“Bobby?” He asked, still not opening his eyes. “God, turn the light off.” He groaned after trying to open his eyes again. Sam heard the light switch flick and felt the burning lessen. He opened his eyes slowly and looked over to his left. “Jeez, Bobby, you're looking rough.” Sam tried to joke, but Bobby just glared. 

“You damn idjit! What were you thinking? Hell, were you thinking?” Bobby cursed and stood, starting to pace angrily in front of Sam's bed. “You know you're on suicide watch, right? They've even got restraints on you, boy.” Bobby said sadly, quickly losing steam. 

Sam looked down and noticed the restrains places on his ankles and upper arms, wondering how he hadn't noticed them before. “How long have I been out?” He asked in a whisper. 

Bobby sat back down and rubbed and hand over his face. “They had trouble once they got you here. You flat-lined for almost 5 minutes and they said we wouldn't know if it'd damaged your brain until you woke up. That was two days ago. You've also got yourself over a dozen stitches on each wrist.” 

Sam just nodded and took in the information slowly. “So, I did die?” He asked and Bobby just nodded. “Should've gotten the ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ tattoo on my chest instead of the anti-possession one.” Sam whispered and burrowed further into the bed. “When am I getting out?” 

Bobby was about to reply when Sam’s doctor walked in. “Ah, great to see you awake, Mr. Singer. I'm Dr. Alan Brown. How are your wrists feeling?” He asked as he picked up the clipboard from the end of Sam's bed. 

At first Sam was confused as to who he was talking to. Obviously it was him the doctor was talking to, but he had said ‘Mr. Singer.’ Sam just shrugged his confusion off for later. “They're fine.” 

Dr. Brown just nodded and approached him by the right. “Any irritation? I know these cuts were pretty deep and stitches can be itchy.” He started unwrapping Sam's wrist to check the sutures. “These are looking all right.”

“They're fine, I've had worse.” Sam replied and avoided eye contact with both of the men in the room.

After Dr. Brown checked his left wrist and rewrapped the wrist he stood for a moment. “Your wrists are looking fine. They'll scar, but it could've been a lot worse.” He tilted his eyes and stared at Sam. After a moment he turned to Bobby. “Would you mind leaving the room for a minute? I'd like to speak to Sam.”

Bobby nodded and started walking out. Sam just stared after him, wanting him to stay, but unwilling to voice it. Dr. Brown took his attention quickly by sitting in the seat Bobby was just at. “Now, Sam, I know you must have been feeling pretty bad to attempt suicide. How are you feeling now?” 

Sam refused to make eye contact as he spoke. “I'm fine. I know that I shouldn't have done what I did, but I can't change that now. I won't be doing it again.” The other man just nodded. 

“That's good, Sam. I have another question for you though.” He wrote down some notes on the clipboard. “Are you hungry?”

Sam finally looked at the doctor and stared into his dark brown eyes. “What? No, I'm fine. I'm not really hungry.” 

The man made a few more scribbles on the paper. “Before this incident, how much were you sleeping each night?” 

“I don't know, maybe 4 hours, tops.” Sam was curious to where this man was going with things. 

“How much have you been drinking lately?” He looked at Sam with nothing but pure professionalism.

“God, a lot. I never really was much of a drinker, Dean was.” Sam said before he could help it. He then closed his mouth quickly and looked away. 

“This Dean fellow, was he your family, friend, lover?” Dr. Brown asked as he wrote on his paper.

“My brother.” Sam whispered brokenly. “Can we not talk about him?” 

Dr. Brown nodded. “Of course, Sam. I seem to have reached a diagnosis anyway. You have severe depression. Now, I'd like to have you set up on an anti-depressant called bupropion hydrochloride, also known as Wellbutrin, for a few months and see how things go. Of course you'd have to visit every couple of weeks to let me check up on things.” He rattled off quickly.

“Do I really have to take an anti-depressant? Seriously? I'm not depressed, Doc. I'm just a little stressed.” Sam argued like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

“I'm going to bring your father in here and we can talk about this with him.” He opened the door and brought Bobby back in. “As I have told Sam, I want to start him on an anti-depressant for a few months at least. He’ll have to come in every two weeks for me to check everything, plus his stitches should be ready to come out by then.” Dr. Brown said calmly.

“What's the anti-depressant? What are the side effects?” Bobby asked as he reclined in the chair.

“Bobby, I'm not depressed!” Sam raised his voice to try to get them to understand. 

Dr. Brown ignored Sam and answered Bobby instead. “It's called Wellbutrin. Now, there are quite a few possible side effects, but I think this would be best for Sam. It can cause weight loss, decreased appetite, restlessness, insomnia, anxiety, constipation, dry mouth, dizziness, and diarrhea. Though weight gain and sexual problems are much less likely to happen than with other anti-depressants.” Bobby nodded and finally looked over at Sam. 

“He’ll have to have somebody watching him, right?” The man nodded. “Looks like you're staying with me for a while, Sammy.” 

Sam groaned. “Fine, but you guys know I'm not depressed, right? It's just stress, Bobby. I'm not taking any damn pills.” He moved to cross his arms, but remembered they were restrained. “Can I get these off now?”

Dr. Brown just unbuckled his restraints as an answer. “You have to take these pills, Sammy. Doctor’s orders. It's what Dean would want.” Bobby knew it was a low blow, but it had to be said. 

“Don't you dare, Bobby. Don't you dare mention him.” Sam was nearly in tears already. “I'll take the damn pills.” He whispered dejectedly and wiped his eyes. “When can I leave?” 

“I'll get a nurse to get your dismissal papers ready while I write your prescription. Robert, please make sure he takes his pills in the morning with a meal. I'm also going to give you some medicine to help him get sleep.” With that, Dr. Brown walked out of the room, leaving Bobby and Sam alone.

“Sam, I don't want a fight about this, you're going to do exactly what the doctor said. I'm not going to lose two sons this soon.” Bobby's voice hitched and Sam looked over to see him tearing up. 

“Bobby. It's all my fault. If I hadn't died, he wouldn't have made that deal, he wouldn't be dead if he just let me stay dead.” Sam said, trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“Hell, boy. You meant the world to Dean. He traded his life for yours and you were about to throw it all away? Why?” Bobby asked desperately.

"Every night I see him get torn to shreds. Either in hell or by the hellhounds, but he's always being tortured. And it's my fault!” He broke into sobs and the nurse walked in at that moment. 

“I'm here with the dismissal, oh. I can come back in a few minutes.” She quickly said and started backing up with the wheelchair. 

Bobby stood up then. “No, it's all right. Just a rough time, you know? I’ll sign these real quick.” Bobby said as he heard Sam sniffle and wipe his nose. “There we go.” Sam stood and walked over to the wheelchair and allowed the woman to wheel him out to the exit. “I'll be right back with the car. Stay put.” Bobby ordered with a wink knowing that Sam wasn't allowed out of the chair yet. 

\--------------------------------------

That was nearly a month ago and Sam had been improving slowly, but improving nonetheless. He had been taking his pills and they helped some days, other days they didn't. Thanks to the pills Sam had a loss in appetite, which caused some weight loss. Insomnia was another problem, but he learned to deal with it by helping Bobby and other hunter’s research. 

It was a few minutes after 8:00 am when Bobby’s phone rang. “Yeah?” Bobby asked and Sam looked up from his place at the table. “Yeah?” He asked again, a hint of irritation in his voice. 

“Who's me?” The voice in the phone automatically clicked in his mind and his expression immediately turned into anger. Sam gave him a questioning look when Bobby hung up abruptly. 

Not even a minute later the phone rang again. “Who is this?” The crease in his brow deepens and Sam stands, starting to walk over. “This ain't funny. Call again, I'll kill ya.” Bobby hung up again and turned to see Sam. 

“Who was it?” He asked and went back to the table with Bobby. 

“Just some prank caller. Been gettin’ them for years, boy.” Sam seemed satisfied with that answer and nodded, going back to his laptop. 

\-----------------------------

Hours later a knock came at the door and Bobby rose from his desk to answer. Sam was upstairs actually sleeping for once.

Bobby grabbed his shotgun and held it against the door as he opened it. He nearly shot the second he saw Dean’s face. “Surprise.” Dean said with a cautious smile. 

“I, I don't,” Bobby stuttered out, setting the gun down for a moment, knowing he'd need a different weapon.

“Yeah, me neither. But here I am.” Dean stepped inside and looked around. 

Behind his back, Bobby grabbed a silver knife from a nearby table. Dean turned and started walking towards him. 

Bobby took this moment to lunge forward and slash at him. Dean grabbed his arm and twisted it around; Bobby struggled and managed to break the grip and backhand him in the face. 

“Bobby! It's me!” Dean tried to reason. 

“My ass!” Came Bobby’s angry reply. 

Dean shoved a chair between himself and Bobby with his hands held out in a defensive manner. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed, and you're about the closest thing I have to a father. Bobby. It's me.” 

Bobby lowered the knife and stepped forward slowly, wanting to get the drop on the creature. , He placed a hand gently on it’s shoulder, managing to hold in a shudder. He suddenly slashed again, but it quickly subdues and disarms him.

“I am not a shape shifter!” Dean yells, trying to get some sense into his closest friend. 

“Then you're a Revenant!” Bobby's dealt with these types of creatures before and tries to slash again, but it managed to shove him away and taken the knife. It held it out in front of him. 

“Alright. If I was either, could I do this – with a silver knife?” Dean raised the blade and rolled up the left sleeve. It grimaced and sliced above the elbow then showed Bobby the line of red blood. 

“Dean?” Bobby dared to hope and stared at the man in front of him. 

“That's what I've been trying to tell you.” With that, Bobby broke and brought Dean in for a tight hug, savor in the moment. 

“It's- It’s good to see you, boy.” Bobby smiled and took a step back. 

“Yeah, you too.” Dean returned the smile and turned, looking around again. 

“But... how did you bust out?” Bobby was very curious, but there was still something he needed to do.

“I don't know. I just, uh, I just woke up in a pine box,” Dean turned around and was met with a cold splash of Holy water. Dean paused, irritated, then spit it out. “I'm not a demon either, you know.”

Bobby shrugged and handed a towel to Dean. “Sorry. Can't be too careful.” Bobby started to walk back towards his desk while Dean followed, wiping his face. 

“So, where's Sam? I tried all of his cells, but it didn't go through.” Dean asked, looking at all of the things that changed and all of the things that didn't change at all.

Bobby tensed in his chair. “He's upstairs sleeping.” 

“Great, I can't wait till he sees my handsome face again.” Dean smiled and headed for the stairs, but Bobby stopped him when he abruptly stood.

“Dean, no!” He waited as Dean turned around looking confused. “Just wait till he wakes up on his own. I just got him to go to bed a little bit ago. Had to give him a sleeping pill and all that.” 

Dean came over towards the desk and sat at one of the chairs nearby. “Why would you have to give him a sleeping pill? Did he get hurt on a hunt?” It was taking all of Dean’s willpower to not run upstairs and check on his brother. 

Bobby sighed and reached under his desk. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey, two glasses, and poured a hefty amount into both. “You're gonna need that, boy.” Bobby drank half of his quickly and sighed again. 

“Bobby? Is Sam okay?” Dean asked hesitantly then grabbed his glass and drank from it. 

Bobby shook his head and Dean felt his heart sink into his stomach. “Boy’s been in a bad place for at least the last month. Would've died if I hadn't found him.” Bobby finished off his glass and poured more into it. 

“What got him? Ghoul, wendigo, demon?” Dean asked and took another drink from his glass, the warm liquid settling easily in his stomach. 

Bobby shook his head. “The damn idjit, he, he tried to,” Bobby couldn't even finish his sentence he was so choked up. 

Dean stood there, waiting for Bobby to finish. “He tried to, what, Bobby?” Dean was starting to panic already. 

Bobby was about to answer when a sleep-filled voice rang out. “I'm fine, really, I am. Bobby?” Sam glanced over at Dean and Bobby nodded, confirming it was his brother. “Well, now that you two are done talking about me, how about we fix some dinner? I'm starving.” Sam didn't wait, just walked into the kitchen, heart racing. 

Bobby motioned for Dean to lean closer and whispered, “Don't be tough on the kid. I want to make sure he actually eats tonight.” He stood and walked into the kitchen, Dean following closely, slightly confused. 

Sam was in his usual spot at the table, laptop open, and fingers typing away. Dean didn't know, but Sam was doing everything he could not to break down right now. His chest felt light it had an elephant sitting on it while his stomach was acting as if it was an acrobat.

Sam subconsciously tugged the sleeves of his shirt over his wrists more, not wanting Dean to see the scars that proved his weakness.

Dean sat across from Sam and stared, trying to figure out what was different with his brother. Sam was definitely thinner, not too much, but it was noticeable. He also seemed a bit more reserved, sluggish, and pale. Dean figured it was because he just woke up. 

“Soup’s on.” Bobby announced and sat a large pot of vegetable soup in the middle of the table. He served everybody and sat down to dig in. 

Sam had pushed his laptop to the side, but kept it open. He was eating slowly and silently, but both men could tell something was on his mind. “Got something to share, boy?” Bobby asked after another spoonful of soup. 

Sam nodded. “I've been keeping tabs on demonic omens for a while, you know? Well, there have been some electrical storms, cattle mutilations, all around where Dean was buried. I'm assuming you didn't just appear here, you crawled out of your grave?” He looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean stared at Sam’s eyes and noticed they seemed dull, very dull. “Huh? Yeah, I broke through the pine box and stole a car to get here. What's that all about, anyway? Why'd you bury me?” Dean looked over at Bobby for a brief moment and then looked at Sam. 

Sam froze, just for a second, then drew his hands back quickly as if the laptop had burnt him. He put his hands under the table and clenched his fists tightly, his nails digging into his palms. “I was looking for a way to bring you back and I couldn't do that if we burned your body.” He said through clenched teeth, trying not to break down. 

Over the month Sam had broken down only three times and none of them were pretty. He could tell that another one was coming, but he was trying to hold it off until he had some privacy. 

“Oh, okay. So, I can tell neither of you brought me back, but I was practically shredded by those hellhounds. How come my body is fine now?” Dean asked as he felt his stomach where he knew claw marks should be.

Sam shrugged and ate another spoonful of soup so Bobby wouldn't harass him. “Bobby, could you get my, uh. You know.” Bobby nodded and went into the other room for a moment then came back with something clutched in his hand.

Dean wasn't trying to be nosey, he wasn't. He just wanted to know what Sam needed. Bobby handed Sam a bottle of pills and raised his eyebrow. “What are those?” 

Bobby ignored him, figuring Sam would tell him if he wanted to know. Sam shook the bottle until two little blue pills fell out. He placed them in his mouth and washed them back with a drink of water. “They're anti-depressants. Thanks, Bobby.” Sam smiled slightly and went back to his laptop, ignoring Dean’s slack-jaw. 

“And may I ask just why you're taking anti-depressants, Sam?” Dean didn't know what to feel. Shock, anger, confusion? He didn't know what he was feeling, but he knew it was strong. 

“Because I need them.” Sam said nonchalantly and ate a few more small bites of his dinner. “Is there anything weird on your body? Some sigil or mark?” Sam looked at Dean with innocent eyes.

“Yeah, but seriously Sam. We need to talk about this. What happened?” Dean looked at Bobby for help, but found he wouldn't be getting any when he shook his head. 

“We can talk about me later, Dean. You just got back from Hell. We need to figure this out first. Now show me your mark or whatever it is.” Sam stood and walked over towards Dean. 

Dean stood and was about to lift his sleeve, but stopped. “No, listen. We’re going to talk, then I'll show you whatever it is. Deal?” 

Sam grimaced at Dean’s last word choice. “We don't know who brought you back or why, don't you think that's more important?” 

Dean shook his head. “No, it isn't more important. I'm worried about you. And who cares? I'm back for now. We can figure it out later.” 

Sam sighed. “Fine.” He glanced over at Bobby. “You don't mind if we head up to my room, do you?” 

“Not at all, son. Go on ahead; I'll be here.” Bobby shooed them off after Sam grabbed his laptop. 

Dean followed Sam into his room and stood as Sam sat down on the bed. “W-What do you want to know?” Sam mentally cursed himself for stuttering, but didn't show anything physically. 

“How did you almost die a month ago? Was it a demon?” Dean crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall. 

“No, it wasn't a demon. It was just a moment of weakness, that’s all.” Sam had his sleeves tucked into the palms of his hands and held onto them for dear life.   
“Well, what happened?” He asked, slightly irritated by the dodgy answer. 

Sam let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a minute. “I, it, God.” He shook his head and rubbed a tired hand down his face. “I was so tired, Dean. It was so easy to just do it, I couldn't help it.”

Dean could hear the desperation in his brother’s voice. When Sam finally opened his eyes he could see they were filled with unshod tears. Quickly Dean came to the edge of the bed and sat down, arm wrapped around his brother. “What happened, Sammy?” 

Sam took a deep breath and decided to just get it out and over with quickly. “I tried to kill myself.” It barely came out as a whisper, but Dean heard it. It was as if somebody screamed it through a megaphone straight into his ear.

Sam was quietly sobbing as Dean sat there, taking it all in. “What, I mean, how did? God, Sammy.” Dean hugged his brother tightly and rubbed his back soothingly. His brother had a tight grip on his jacket and didn't seem as if he was going to let go any time soon. 

“Ruby had just told me there was n-no way to bring you b-back. I-I drove for hours, I didn't even know where I was going or how I got there, but I was just a couple towns over from here.” He hiccupped and Dean patted his back gently. “I had everything packed and ready to be sent here. I e-even called B-Bobby and said goodbye. I think I nearly scared him to death.” Sam chuckled sadly and it turned into more cries and Dean sat there, giving his comfort the best way he could. 

“It took me a while to get up the nerve, but I slit my wrists in the motel bathroom. I barely felt the pain, Dean. I was so fascinated with my blood, how everything was ending right then and there.” Sam wiped his cheek on his sleeve. “I don't remember much after, but Bobby told me he found me nearly dead. He called an ambulance and they took me to the hospital.” 

Dean didn't know what to think when Sam lifted one of his sleeves, but he didn't expect the rough, jagged scar that was there. “I woke up a few days later. Bobby about tore me a new one.” Sam was rubbing the scar lightly, staring off past Dean. “Apparently I did die, but it was only for about five minutes. It would've been better if I stayed dead, but,” Sam went quiet for a moment and Dean’s heart clenched. 

“Don't say that, Sammy. God, don't say that.” He hadn't noticed he was crying until now, but he didn't make an attempt to wipe his tears away. “Nothing, you hear me, nothing would be better if you were dead. If you were dead when I came back. Well, I'd try to get you back, but if I couldn't I’d off myself. Just drive the Impala off the nearest cliff I could find. That, or swallow the bullet.” Dean grabbed Sam’s wrist and rubbed his thumb against it. 

Sam finally made eye contact with Dean and took a shuddered breath. “You'd do the same thing I did. I can't live without you, Dean. It was my fault you were sent to Hell.” He wiped his tears again and shook his head. “I woke up with restraints on. They didn't want me to hurt myself. Bobby was there and this doctor came in, talking about all these types of medicine I'd need to take.” 

“I didn't want the medicine. I wasn't depressed, I told them. I knew I'd have to take an antibiotic, but I didn't want an anti-depressant. I just wanted to leave. God, Dean. I just wanted to punch that stupid doctor. I wanted to just rip out my stitches and bleed out.” Sam pulled his wrist away from Dean and started rubbing the scar again. 

“Sammy, I'm back now. It's all going to be better. You've got your big brother back,” he tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. It didn't matter anyway, Sam wasn't looking at him. “Sam?”

Sam looked back at Dean and then looked down. “Sorry. Sometimes I space out, but it's okay. You're back and that's what I wanted, right?” He smiled sadly and stood up. “I know you don't like chick-flick moments, so let's move on. What mark were you talking about?” 

Dean cleared his throat and wiped eyes, deciding to drop the subject for now. “It's fine, Sammy. Uh, it's some weird handprint on my shoulder.” He lifted his left sleeve and revealed a blistered handprint on his shoulder. 

“Jesus, Dean. I’ve seen something like this in one of Bobby’s books before, but I don't remember what it said. Hang on a sec, maybe Bobby knows more.” Sam was already picking up his laptop and notebook and rushing out the door. 

Dean followed Sam over to Bobby’s desk and leaned against the wall. He knew things weren't going to be okay, not for a long time, but somehow they'd get there. Sam wasn't going to let Dean die again, and he knew he wouldn't let Sam die either. Never again.


End file.
